


The Fundamental Things Apply

by EffieA



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Casablanca References, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Episode: s02e22 The Wire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffieA/pseuds/EffieA
Summary: Garak and Bashir try a holosuite program and things go awry.orGarak and Bashir ruin Casablanca.





	1. Garak

**Author's Note:**

> Set early in the third season.

Garak leaned against the railing of the mezzanine and surveyed his establishment with a rare feeling of fulfilment. There were still a few hours before opening time and he was already done with the day’s administrative work. It felt good to be on top of things. Downstairs in the bar’s main room a few members of his staff were busy spreading tablecloths and straightening chairs. The head waiter, Otto, noticed him looking and gave him a respectful nod. Garak noted the lack of fear in his employees’ eyes as he looked around with a small smile. While the sting of exile would never completely vanish, there was something comforting in presiding over such a well-run place. He straightened up and began to head back toward his office when a voice called out from below. “Elim!” Garak turned around. “There you are. I do hope you’re not planning on cancelling lunch again.” A middle-aged human man in uniform made his way up the stairs, odd-looking hat tucked under his arm.

“Captain Moreau. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Garak said with a smile. “I believe it’s your turn to choose the restaurant?”

***

<two weeks earlier>

 

“So, what do you think?” Dr. Bashir asked with a smile as he stretched out his arms in the small, rustic-looking café. Garak blinked slowly. “Is it too bright? Computer, decrease brightness by 10 percent.” The weeks following the removal of his implant had seen the deepening of his friendship with the young Federation doctor and the beginning of their, well, relationship wasn’t the right term. Not yet, at least, and he couldn’t bear to hope that anything might change for the better. _Arrangement_ , he decided. Along with that very welcome development had come the rather less desirable attempts by Bashir to make Garak’s experience on the station more tolerable. Because it wouldn’t do for the doctor’s colleagues to find out about their liaison, this often involved being forced to endure tiresome or embarrassing holoprograms. At the very least this one didn’t seem to contain any scantily-clad massage therapists.

“Well, it’s certainly…” The interior of the building they stood in was crowded with small tables covered with blue and white checkered cloths. There was a bulky instrument called a piano in the middle of the room and sunlight streamed through windows facing a busy street. Lace curtains obscured the scene outside, but he could hear primitive motorized vehicles and people talking as they walked by on the pavement outside. There were only a few other patrons inside. He looked around the room slowly. The men wore the same simple, old-fashioned Terran-style suits that Garak and Bashir were in, but the women were dressed in outfits more akin to the current fashions favored by Cardassian ladies than anything he’d seen female Federation citizens wear.

“Different? I know, but I think you might enjoy 20th century Paris.” Bashir sighed. “Look, I know it can’t compete with that Cardassia Prime program you like so much, but I’m not sure I can handle being thrown out of another restaurant.”

“Yes, that _was_ unfortunate,” Garak said, narrowing his eyes. “I can assure you, my dear, if he’d been a real person rather than a holographic projection that waiter would have lived to regret his actions.”

His lover turned to him with a rather unbecoming smirk on his face. “Oh really? Is that so?”

“I simply meant that I would have complained to his supervisor.” Garak said while raising an eyeridge with as much dignity as he could muster. He had, in fact, sent an anonymous tip about the man in question to the program’s version of the Obsidian Order when Bashir wasn’t looking, but he decided not to share that little detail with the doctor.

“Oh, right, obviously.” Bashir said with a shake of his head. “Come on, Garak, let’s just try it, OK? This program is supposed to be based on a famous old Earth story. It’s not one I know much about but there’s apparently romance and drama. I think you might enjoy it.”

Garak did enjoy it. There really wasn’t much in the way of a storyline as far he could tell. Their characters were two strangers in a foreign city who became lovers after agreeing not to discuss each other’s mysterious pasts. A bit on the nose, maybe, but it was a relief to be able to just exist somewhere with Dr. Bashir without scrutiny, anger or half-mumbled slurs. They toured the city, took long walks, went to restaurants and nightclubs and, after some prodding, Garak even let Bashir drive them out into the countryside in one of the terrifying vehicles people of that period used. Despite all the levity, underneath the festive mood that went along with summer in a beautiful city there were ominous rumblings; the kind of signs he’d been trained to pick up on. Bashir had told him it was the beginning of a devastating war and a particularly dark period for his homeworld, though he couldn’t give many more details (“I’m a doctor, not a history teacher!”). By their third visit, the war and impending invasion were no longer ignorable and the tension permeated every aspect of life in the city. It was decided that they should leave before the occupational forces arrived. Garak considered requesting that they disable the story function and just continue as before, but he could tell Dr. Bashir wanted something more exciting. Well, it might be nice to explore some other part of the planet and he could even see the appeal of a clandestine escape when one’s life wasn’t actually at risk.

He looked around the crowded transit platform impatiently. It seemed like half the city had decided to get out before the invading army arrived. On top of that, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. What was taking Bashir so long? Wherever they ended up, he hoped it would be warmer because the bitterly cold rain certainly felt real. “Mr. Garak!” He looked up to see Nick, a piano player they’d befriended at their regular café who had offered to bring Bashir to the station. “I-I couldn’t find him. He- he checked out of the hotel.” The man dug for something in his coat pocket while trying to catch his breath.

Garak tried to keep his thoughts straight. “What do you mean you couldn’t find him? Where else could he have gone?”

“He left this for you at reception.” Nick handed him an envelope containing a folded notecard. “Now, we gotta get out of here. It won’t be safe for you when the Germans find out who you are.”

“Don’t be absurd. We can’t leave without-” The words on the card were written in beautiful but slightly archaic script and they took a moment to sink in. Garak fought back dizziness. Impossible. He read it again as raindrops stained the paper. “Computer! End program!”

The miserable scene disappeared and suddenly Julian was in front of him. On arm slightly extended as if raised in a toast with whatever new lover he’d ran off with. He looked puzzled. “Garak? What’s wrong? I thought we agreed we’d stop at the two-hour mark.”

It took every ounce of control Garak had to contain the fury that ran through his veins like poison. It _was_ only a holonovel. He knew that, but still. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I am quite fatigued.”

“Oh, I see. All right. Then would you like to come back to my quarters for a drink? I’ll be sure not to tire you out any more than is strictly necessary.” The doctor’s smile was sly and flirtatious and caused a pain in Garak’s chest. “Or we could go to your quarters? I could read one of those awful enigma tales to you.”

“No, I think not, Doctor. Another time.”

Bashir frowned. “OK, well, do you want to finish up here tomorrow night? We’ll have to be careful because Jadzia has the night off so she might be in Quark’s playing Tongo, but-”

“Unfortunately, I have several important orders to finish up. I doubt I’ll be able to make time for any holosuite diversions until late next week at the earliest.” He had started out just making excuses, but a plan began to form. Maybe they could finish this accursed program, but it would be on Garak’s terms.

“Sure. I guess just let me know when you’re ready. Are we still on for lunch?”

Garak turned toward the door without making eye contact. “I’ll let you know. Goodnight, Doctor.”

“Um, right, goodnight Garak.”

***

<the present>

 

Garak took a bite of the dish in front of him. The spices weren’t quite like the proper Cardassian ones he missed so much, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of zabu meat stew. After the disastrous end to his and Bashir’s visit to Paris, he’d returned to the program alone every few days. He felt reasonably sure that Quark, who seemed to have enough good sense to be afraid of him, was being discreet. The solo holosuite sessions had been meant only for intelligence gathering to prepare for the doctor’s return, but he had to admit there were some pleasant aspects. He watched his lunch companion nibble at his rather sad-looking sandwich. “I don’t know why you don’t try more of the local food, Captain. It’s one of the nicest things about Casablanca. It’s almost enough to make up for the cold.”

“Cold? It must be at least 25 degrees outside. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you, Elim.”

“Nor I you, Captain. Tell me, have you finished the arrangements for your distinguished visitors?” The expected arrival of a Major Albrecht and party had been Moreau’s main topic of conversation lately.

The prefect of police smiled grimly. “Almost. You can never be too careful with these people. Everything has to be perfect. And now with this business of the missing documents and the two murdered couriers...”

Ah, so the information he’d picked earlier that day had been reliable. Garak did his best to keep the pleased expression off his face. “Yes, I heard something about that. How distressing.” What was actually distressing was the idea of travel permits made out of paper. Just thinking about enforcing such a system was enough to give him a headache. He kept those thoughts to himself and instead considered what this meant in for the story. “It’s not like people don’t regularly slip in and out of Casablanca, though.” It was even worse than Terok Nor ( _Deep Space Nine_ , _Elim_ ) when it came to people making it past the security precautions.

“No, though it’s rather more complicated right now. It appears that a well-known Czechoslovakian resistance leader by the name of Vašek has escaped from a concentration camp in France and will be here in Casablanca by tomorrow with a companion. The Germans are insistent that they remain here. It’s my job to make sure that they don’t get their hands on those two letters of transit.”

“A companion?” Garak asked with a smile. That was a euphemism if ever he’d heard one. It seemed that humans could be subtle occasionally. “If the goal is evading capture, I’d say this Vašek person only needs one exit visa.”

“You haven’t seen the companion.” Moreau said with a laugh. 

Garak concedes the point with a nod. “Oh, but I intend to.” So, this is how things were meant to tie together. It had been two years in the story’s timeline since he and Julian were separated in Paris and it looked like it was finally time for a reunion and he intended to be ready.

His friend seemed to have given up on his food. “Elim, I know you don’t entirely approve of my decision to retain my position and cooperate with Vichy.” He meant the government of the supposedly unoccupied portions of his home country. That included the territory they currently resided in, which was part of some sort of colony. Even without much knowledge of the conflict, it was clear to Garak that the people who made up this so-called government were little more than tools for the occupying power. Despite Moreau’s boisterous declarations to the contrary and what was likely a life-long tendency toward corruption (if they’d been back home, Garak would have had enough evidence for a trial ten minutes into their first lunch), the captain was quite self-conscious about his role in current events. This is the first time he mentioned it outright, though. Despite knowing the man was nothing more than a hologram, Garak couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably in his seat. No self-respecting Cardassian would ever broach such a delicate topic in public, with a casual acquaintance no less. “As an outsider, I can’t see that it’s my place to comment.” He said, choosing his words carefully.

“More wine?” At Garak’s nod, the man refilled the Cardassian’s glass. “I realize it may not seem like it, but I do love my country.” He narrowed his eyes. “I can tell you love yours too, the way you talk about it, despite whatever happened to make you leave.” The man said with uncharacteristic sincerity. He leaned back in his chair but didn’t lower his gaze. “I am being selfish, I won’t deny it, but I am doing my job.” He paused for a moment. “More or less. You and I both know that if I were to resign, they’d only replace me.” He looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to their conversation. “With someone more like them.”

Garak nodded as he used a piece of soft, round bread to scoop up the last of his stew. “I can’t say I completely agree with your argument, but I suppose you do have a point. Though I’m sure Major Kira would have you on some sort of list.”

“Major who?” Moreau asked and then shook his head when no answer came as though he expected as much. “Enough about me and my little problems. Will this be the day you finally tell me why exactly you can’t return to your precious New York?” _Humans_. They really ought to work on their off-putting directness.

 

***

<the next evening>

 

Garak adjusted the collar on the uncomfortable but admittedly sharp-looking suit and looked into the mirror in his office. _Not too bad_ , he thought. He’d made it himself using patterns from the replicator and he had to admit that it made the part he was playing feel more real. _Remind you of the old days, Elim? Back when you had a real purpose?_ He pushed the bitter voice in his head aside. Now was the time to focus.

This evening would provide him his chance to confront Bashir and gain the upper hand in this ridiculous little drama. His interactions with the doctor when they met at the holosuite this evening had been awkward, like all their interactions since Paris. Now things might actually change. He knew better than to be overconfident at such an early stage, but things were already going his way. He’d already had the distasteful experience of meeting Major Albrecht, an unpleasant individual who reminded whose attitude and demeanor wouldn’t be out of place in the Central Command and who clearly enjoyed needling Garak about his exile. It’s not like he wasn’t used to that from nearly every other Cardassian who visited the station these days.

The most important event of the evening so far, however, was the arrival of a Ferengi-like petty criminal and black marketeer named Olano who had solved one mystery by asking Garak to hold on to two letters of transit he was intending to sell that evening. The documents were a perfect match to the description of those stolen from the dead couriers earlier that week and now Garak was the only one who knew where they were. Why people in this simulation kept insisting on trusting him, he had no idea. He turned to the kotra board on his desk. The next few moves could determine the outcome of the game.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Captain Moreau stood in the doorway in the white dress uniform that Garak couldn’t help but admire. Impractical, surely, but they certainly beat those Starfleet monstrosities. _That Dr. Bashir manages to look so attractive in that garish excuse for a uniform is nothing short of a wonder._

“Of course not, do come in. I’m simply considering strategy.”

Moreau walked over to the desk and Garak noticed the man’s smile seemed less genuine than normal. “What happened to chess?”

“Chess? No, thank you. A dull and unchallenging game. Kotra is far superior, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I couldn’t say. I prefer roulette.”

“Naturally. Is there something I can do for you, Captain?” He usually enjoyed his banter with Moreau but tonight his thoughts were consumed by his Julian. _Don’t be so juvenile, Elim. He isn’t and never will be_ your _Julian._

“I’m just letting you know that my men are about to make an arrest here in your café.” Garak nods. The captain must be referring to Olano. It appeared that the man’s biggest misstep wasn’t trusting Garak after all.

As he spoke, Moreau scanned Garak’s face carefully as if looking for a reaction. He made sure to keep his expression neutral as he turned back to his game. “I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

“You know I consider you a friend, Elim, but I’m going to have caution you against warning him in any way.” The captain was trying for stern and intimidating and failed quite miserably.

Garak tried his best to suppress his amusement. “Captain, let me assure you that unless your men damage my furniture or scare away too many of my customers, you won’t get any complaints from me.” At least this would be an arrest for cause, unlike most of the others he’d witnessed in Casablanca that were simply lazy attempts to avoid actually dealing with the city’s criminal elements, not to mention a burgeoning underground operating right under the noses of the authorities.

“All right then. I’m glad you’re being sensible about things, but there’s also the matter of our much-anticipated guests.”

“Vašek and _companion_ , you mean?”

Moreau nodded as he used a match to light what Bashir had called a “cigarette,” which was apparently an inhalable addictive drug common in this era. Garak had concluded that it was remarkable that the Terran people managed to survive long enough to get to space at all. “Yes, they arrived today and checked into a hotel and are, as we speak, sitting in your bar.”

“Are they? How intriguing.” Garak kept his satisfaction to himself, but it had been his plan to stay in the shadows as much as possible until they arrived.

“I can’t let Vašek get ahold of those papers, Elim.” He offered his cigarette case to Garak and received a horrified look in return. “That’s right, you don’t smoke.”

“I most certainly do not. May I ask why you think I might help Vašek escape?”

“Because, my dear Elim, I suspect that under that cynical shell you are at heart a sentimentalist.”

Garak felt a chill down his spine. _Me, sentimental. How absurd._ “You’re worrying in vain, Captain. I can assure you.”

“If you say so.” He nodded and turned to leave, though he didn’t look particularly convinced. “If you’ll excuse me, Major Albrecht will want to speak to our new guests.”

Garak watched the other man leave then turned back to the kotra board. After a few minutes spent on deciding which of his glinns to move, he checked his reflection in the mirror again before descending the staircase. Nick, who was sitting at his piano, met Garak’s eyes with a worried look. So, Dr. Bashir was definitely here. Then he saw them. Captain Moreau and Major Albrecht standing near a table with a beautiful human woman with dark swept-up hair and a small scar above her right eye. Next to her in a well-tailored gray suit sat Julian Bashir.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Garak displayed what he hoped was his most menacing smile. The doctor smiled back, sheepishly.

The major didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “I thought you said you had a bar to run?”

Captain shot a concerned look at Garak. “Ah, Mademoiselle, may I present Monsieur Elim Garak, the proprietor of this establishment. Elim, this is Mademoiselle Renata Vašek. And this is-”

“Hello, Garak.”

“Doc- that is, Mr. Bashir.”

“Oh! You know each other!”

Renata Vašek turned to Bashir. “Julian?” But he only shakes his head silently in response. 

“We’ve met. Do you mind if I sit?” Garak ignored Bashir as he pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer and looked instead at Major Albrecht who glared back at him.

“We’re in the middle of something.”

The woman raised her head defiantly and clasped hands with Dr. Bashir. “What is this about?”

“Yes, Garak, what _is_ this about?” The doctor’s voice was as haughty and beautiful as ever. _Focus, Elim._

“It has come to my attention, Major, that you’ve been instructed to make sure Ms. Vašek remains here, in Casablanca.

“That’s common knowledge, yes. I’m not sure what it has to do with you.” The major tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

“Well, it just so happens that I have access to documents that would make it much easier for these two to do exactly what you fear.” Garak made sure they had eye contact. “Before you get any ideas, you should know that you’d never find them if anything were to… happen to me.”

The tapping stopped. “Go on.”

He could feel Moreau, Vašek and the doctor staring at him. “I would consider a trade.”

“Forgive my skepticism, Mr. Garak, but from what I know of your politics-”

He inclined his head toward the major. “You may have been misinformed.”

“I see. What is it you want?”

“I’ll hand over the letters of transit if you see to it that exit visas are issued, and safe passage is insured, for me and Mr. Bashir.”

The woman stood up forcefully. “That’s outrageous!”

“My orders are that Mr. Bashir is to remain as well.”

“In that case, I can offer you the names of five members of the local resistance cell as well as a list of their usual meeting places. Surely that’s worth more to you than one escaped prisoner’s paramour.” Garak leaned back confidently. He wasn’t completely certain about the fifth man, but he was a known associate of two of the others. It just showed that one could never be too careful when choosing friends.

“How is it that you have this information when Captain Moreau apparently doesn’t?”

Garak smiled. “An excellent question. I suggest you look into that.”

“Monsieur Garak-” _Oh, what happened to “Elim”?_ The captain’s face appeared several shades lighter than normal and it didn’t look like he could manage a full sentence. Garak felt something twist in his stomach. _Get ahold of yourself. It’s not like you haven’t done worse to real people. To fellow Canadians._

“Whatever it is you think you’re doing, stop it now.” Julian’s eyes looked as big as saucers. For a fleeting moment he was reminded of another doctor, but he pushed that thought down before it could be fully formed.

“Do be quiet, my dear, we’ll have plenty of time for discussion on our journey.”

“Not unless you plan on tying me up and dragging me along with you!”

“Julian, calm down, please.” Ms. Vašek placed an arm on the doctor’s shoulder and Garak felt warmth under his neckridges.

“Yes, _Julian_. You should listen to her.”

“Computer, pause program!” The scene froze and Bashir let out an exasperated sigh. “What the hell, Garak?”

“If you’ve had enough, we can simply quit.”

“Yes, I rather think I have.”

Garak smiled. “All right, then just concede that I won and-”

“Won?! We weren’t playing a game!”

Eyeridges come together in confusion. “Weren’t we?”

“What? Of course not." Bashir paused and he srunched up his unadorned forehead. "Wait. This is one of those things again, isn’t it?” He reached across the table toward Garak’s hand, only to have it pulled out of reach.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“It definitely is. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Bashir was up from the table and already at the door. “I think we need a drink. A real one.” True to his word, he returned after a few minutes with a bottle of springwine and two glasses. “I hope this is OK. I know you hate synthale.”

Garak watched Bashir pour wine into each cup. “It’s fine. Thank you, Doctor.”

Julian gave him a small smile. “Computer, disable story and characters and run program.” The room came to life again, except now the table was empty but for the two of them. “All right, Garak. Talk.”


	2. Julian

Julian glared across the table at Garak, who was drinking his wine at an alarming speed and clearly making an effort to keep his facial features neutral. “What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing, Doctor. I was just thinking that if this is how you would go about conducting interrogations, you should probably stick to your original career.”

“I fully intend to, Mr. Plain-and-simple-tailor, but…” Julian stopped and shook his head.  “I know it goes against your nature to be even the slightest bit direct, but since we’re talking about a holonovel and not state secrets here, can’t you just tell me what’s made you so upset?”

 The Cardassian leaned back stiffly. “I don’t think “upset” is the correct word.”

“Garak, please.”

For a moment he thought he might not receive any kind of answer, but then Garak stuck his hand inside his pristine white jacket, searching for something. Finally, he pulled out a worn but carefully folded piece of old-fashioned Earth stationary. The letters in their strange array looked stark and violent against the cream-colored background. “Um, you know I can’t read that.” Julian had programed the settings so that Standard would be used when they were together and Garak’s native tongue when he was on his own. This little scrap of paper hadn’t been meant for Julian’s eyes.

“But you know what it is.” It wasn’t a question and the eyes looking at him were not the eyes of a tailor. Suddenly, his little plan to talk it out seemed incredibly ill-advised. Why hadn’t he just taken Quark’s current stock suggestion of _Pleasure Gardens of Risa IV_?

“Yes, but again, this is fiction. Those aren’t really my words.” Julian leaned forward to get a better look at it. “Is that my name?” He pointed at the characters clustered at the very bottom of the page.

“Don’t change the subject, _Julian_.” The doctor tried not to wince. How long had he waited for Garak to use his first name and when he finally does, it’s like this?

“Garak-”

The Cardassian shook his head. “Doctor, you know enough about my culture to be aware of the importance we place on commitments.” At Julian’s raised eyebrows he added, “I’m referring, of course, to the commitments made by the characters we were playing.”

Julian frowned. “But still, even they were just lovers.”

“Just lovers? Don’t be ridiculous. I asked if you’d leave the city with me and you agreed. On Cardassia that would certainly mean a permanent commitment. Even in this immoral environment a declaration of that kind counts for something. Or it should have,” he added as his eyes narrowed slightly and Julian felt his face flush.

“Now, wait a minute.” Julian tried to push down his annoyance as he watched the seemingly unperturbed face across from him.

“No, I don’t think so. You wanted an explanation, didn’t you, Doctor? Although, I’d say I’m the one who’s actually owed one.” He drank the last of his wine and carefully sat the delicate old Earth glass on the table. _That’s three already and surely he’d had kanar before this_ , the concerned physician part of Julian’s brain couldn’t help but note as he glanced at his own barely-touched drink. He decided to try again. “All right, since you’re taking this so seriously, there is something you should know.”

“Ah, at last. So, tell me, was it Vašek you left me for, or some other beautiful young person?” Garak poured himself another glass of springwine but kept his eyes, which were as cold as they’d been the day Julian had found out about the implant, glued to his companion. “I would have thought you’d be the type who enjoys telling.”

The control Julian had been exerting over his temper suddenly evaporated and he stood up so forcefully that wine splashed onto the pristine white tablecloth. He walked to the exit and didn’t look back to see if Garak watched him go.

***

<the next day>

 

“You’re all set, Mr. Aron. Nurse Suloris will program your next appointment into your PADD for you on your way out,” Julian said as he walked to the door on the examination room alongside his elderly Bajoran patient.

As soon as he’d said her name, the nurse appeared in the doorway. “Certainly, Doctor. Also, your next patient is due in five minutes.” Her pursed lips and uncharacteristically chilly voice could mean only one thing. _Garak_. The Cardassian had been coming in for biweekly health checks since the incident with the wire, but Julian wondered if he’d bother to show up for this one. _Maybe it would be better if he didn’t_ , he thought as he prepared the room for the next examination. Before he could decide if he should call someone over to reschedule, a crisp voice interrupted his thoughts. “A rather painfully polite Bajaron nurse said you’d be in here.” There was a pause. “Unless you’d rather I make an appointment with another physician?” Garak’s hesitant tone of voice made Julian regret his earlier thoughts.

“Don’t be silly, I’m your doctor.” He sat down and motioned for Garak to take the bench opposite. “And, well, maybe I could have handled things better. Cultural issues shouldn’t just be ignored and I was, perhaps, insensitive and-”

Garak held up a hand. “Doctor, we both know I owe you an apology.”

“All right, Elim, I accept.” Bashir smiled as Garak blinked once at the use of his given name. “Quark once mentioned to me that while only family members and loved ones use first names on Cardassia, it’s rather extraordinary for lovers not to use them.”

“The Ferengi is correct,” Garak acknowledged. “Do you think he…?”

“I think he suspects, but I doubt he’d risk losing my patronage by gossiping about it.” _Or risk unleashing your ire_ , went unsaid. “So, would you mind terribly if we dropped the formality from now on? When we’re in more private settings, I mean.”

“On the contrary, Doc- Julian,” he corrected with a nod, “nothing would make me happier.” _That’s one of his least believable lies_ , Julian thought, but he couldn’t help but notice that the other man’s smile was genuine for the first time in weeks. He stood up and walked over to his lover and when he sat down, he wrapped one arm around him and squeezed lightly. “OK, Elim, I suppose we’d better get your exam done and then maybe we could have lunch, if you’d like.”

Elim reached up slowly and cupped Julian’s check in his hand, bringing their faces closer together. “A lovely idea, my dear.”

“What is this?!” They whipped their heads in the direction of the voice to see Aron Dori hunched in the doorway, fury evident on every inch of his wrinkled face. As Julian jumped to his feet, he realized in a panic that his apprehension about the situation had thrown him off to the extent that he had forgotten to secure the door. “Sir, we’re in the middle of an examination! You need to leave immediately.”

“You call that an examination? To think I survived all those years in a labor camp just to see the head doctor of a Bajoran station be a spoonhead’s _alok’imar_.” The last word was nearly spat and didn’t translate, though Julian saw Elim flinch slightly.  

“I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken,” Garak began, his voice calm and measured.

“Mistaken? Ha! You think I ain’t seen this before?” The old man shook his cane wildly in the direction. “Him acting all high and mighty when he probably spends his free time bein’ fed diced _kalenji_ fruit by his Cardy lover. It’s a disgrace!” Julian grabbed Elim’s arm to prevent him from moving any closer just as two orange and purple clad figures appeared behind the old man and gently but firmly grasped his arms. “Mr. Aron, you can’t be in here. You have to come with us.” Nurse Jabara cast a concerned look at Julian and Garak while Suloris studiously kept her eyes on the distressed patient.

“I just had a question for the doctor about this here hypospray! I ain’t done nothing wrong!”

Nurse Suloris propelled him out of the room. “Of course not, sir, come with me and I’ll go over the instructions with you again.” Jabara nodded at Julian then activated the door, once again leaving them alone. This time Julian made sure he set the locking sequence before returning to his place next to Elim, who was staring quietly at the wall.

Julian leaned closer so the other man would have to look at him. “So, are you going to tell me what _alok’imar_ means or will I have to look it up?”

Elim sighed. “Ah, I suppose your Federation translators do better with Bajoran than Kardasi. _Only because your people wiped the computer systems_ , but Julian decided to keep that to himself. Now was definitely not the time for another argument. He nodded instead. “It’s an obscenity then?”

“Not exactly.” Elim paused and looked down. “I suppose the closest Standard phrase is “comfort woman.” At the doctor’s audible intake of breath, he continued. “However, the Kardasi term is gender neutral.”

“Well, that makes it all better then.” Julian said with a wry smile. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I knew it would be something along those lines. I was actually expecting worse.”

At that, Elim finally made eye contact. “Will this make trouble for you professionally?”

“No, I doubt it. You _are_ my patient. I suppose most people will think Aron is exaggerating and that simply seeing me with a Cardassian was enough to set him off. As for the rest, who cares about them? It’s not like there haven’t been whispers since the day you first approached me in the replimat.”

Elim nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I am, now let’s get this over with and get out of here. You’re my last appointment today so after I do a little paperwork I’ll be free to go.”

After they finished up in the infirmary they headed to Quark’s for a late lunch. To Julian’s relief the place was deserted aside from Morn, a handful of passers-through trying their luck at the dabo tables and a middle-aged Bajoran couple he’d never seen before two tables over.

“You’re not, you know.” Elim said after taking a sip of the broth a Ferengi waiter had just set in front of him along with a plate of meat rolls.

Julian frowned, “I’m not what?”

“My _alok’imar_.” The statement combined with Elim’s absurdly serious face caused Julian to burst out laughing. “I fail to see what’s so funny, Doctor.” The return of his title was enough to force Julian to get himself under control. _Oh no, we absolutely cannot revert to that,_ he told himself.

“Elim, it’s just that I’ve always known you didn’t see me like that. I’d never have become involved with you if I thought you did.” The grin returned to his face and he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Also, aren’t I the one with a position and status and isn’t this a Federation-run space station? Wouldn’t that make you my-” Before he could finish, a scaly hand grabbed his wrist while a deep growl-like sound escaped his lunch companion’s throat. “Hey, I’m joking! I wasn’t serious!” Julian managed through the laughter he couldn’t suppress.

“Everything all right with you gentlemen?” Quark said with a smirk from the other side of the bar.

“Certainly, Dr. Bashir and I are simply enjoying a spirited conversation.” Elim gently released Julian’s arm with a smile.

Julian glanced over to their fellow diners’ table to see the Bajoran couple staring at them in horror. _Damn_. This was the worst consequence of their relationship. Far worse than dealing with Elim’s mood swings and aversion to the truth. He thought of the two of them wandering through the holographic version of Paris, free from any kind of negative attention.

Garak, seemingly oblivious to their audience, straightened himself up and picked up a meat roll. He broke it open and examined its contents. He frowned and sat it back on the plate. “I meant what I said, but if you were,” he continued as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened, “I wouldn’t feed you _kalenji_ fruit.”

“Oh, no?”

“No,” Elim agreed primly. “Because I know full well you prefer redberries from Earth.”

“Raspberries, but yes.” Julian was about to make a witty retort when a thought struck him. “What would you think about finishing our holonovel?”

Elim looked surprised. “Wasn’t it clear that our ideas of how to proceed couldn’t be reconciled?”

“What if I agreed to do things your way? We’ll play it like a game with you trying to convince me to leave with you and me trying to persuade you to help me and Renata. But you actually have to convince me this time. What do you think?”

“You say that like you think I won’t be able to convince you.” Elim said with narrowed eyes and a small smile.

“That’s a yes then?”

“Fine. Tonight? 20:00?”

Julian sipped his Tarkalean tea and smiled. “Tonight. However, I was serious last night when I said there was something you need to know.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about Renata. You see... Um, she’s my wife, in the program that is, and she was even when we were in Paris.” He looked up, expecting some kind of reaction from Garak to show him if this was a good idea or not, but there was nothing visible on the Cardassian’s face.

“You mean to tell me this whole time you were enjoined with that, that _dissident minx_?!”

Julian was about to open his mouth and apologize for starting this all over again when he noticed the sparkle in Garak’s eyes. _Like when we fight about literature_. Reassured, he stood up in faux anger. “Now look here, Garak, there’s more to the story-” Suddenly, it occurred to him just how loud they were being and just exactly they were, but it was too late. There was the clanging of dishes and cutlery and the sound of chairs scraping against flooring and then the Bajorans were at the bar, hurriedly paying for their meals.

Julian sheepishly looked over to Quark. “Sorry about that.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we got a little carried away.” Elim rested his hand on Julian’s should and smiled at Quark in a way that appeared to Julian to be half conciliatory and half menacing.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just keep at that holo program of yours for a few more weeks and you’ll make it up to me.”

“Of course.” He turned to Julian. “I’ll see you tonight, Doctor. I’ve got a lot of reading to do if I’m going to finish _Bel Ami_ before our holosuite appointment.”

Julian frowned. “That wasn’t one of my suggestions.”

“No, it was something Gul Moreau selected. I admit I wasn't convinced at first, but all in all, I’m finding it to be a brilliant metaphor for-”

“Moreau? The chief of police in Casablanca? You mean to say you’re taking literature recommendations from him now?”

Garak took Julian’s elbow and led him out of the bar. “Now, now, my dear, don’t tell me you’re jealous of him. After all, it’s a _holonovel_ and all of it is _fictional_ ,” he said, clearly relishing using Julian’s previous argument against him.

“Of course not!”

“How silly of me to think such a thing, then. See you this evening, Julian.”

“See you, Elim.” _Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all._ And yet, he couldn’t help but feel excited as he walked back to his quarters alone.


End file.
